


our peak descent

by colouring



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Amusement Park, Angst with a Happy Ending, Feelings, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-16 01:21:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10560986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colouring/pseuds/colouring
Summary: There are certainly worse ways to patch things up than a day out - but perhaps the only remedy they need is themselves.Loosely inspired by Seventeen's Fast Pace.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a long overdue coupjeong that was initially supposed to be a short 2k thing based on Fast Pace but somehow TOTALLY deviated from that direction and is now a hodgepodge of Emotions and Feelings. 
> 
> Massive thanks to my darling [aurics](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aurics) for holding my hand and pretty much deconstructing this fic so that it's half decent. Also shout out to my support Hayley, who doesn't even like boy groups. Legends only.
> 
> This is my first Seventeen fic, so any and all constructive criticisms are welcome!

 

When the sky disintegrates its prim daytime layers into orange and purple flares, the front door of apartment 1331 would creak open, admitting a hunched figure cloaked in too many layers. A sigh would escape from him as he shuffles to slip his patent shoes off. Stands there for a minute or two to soak in the happenings of the apartment that day, before hoisting his knobbly feet onto the wooden panels.

 

Though a frequent observer of this routine, Jeonghan never quite knows if the sigh is of exhaustion or hesitancy, so he listens for the footsteps that come next. When they are light and careful, the open-plan kitchen is the first destination, followed by delighted steps towards the lounge. Jeonghan would slip in the couch space next to the figure as he eats his microwaved dinner. Realising Jeonghan’s presence, he would start smothering kisses despite Jeonghan’s weak protests, and before Jeonghan could ask how his day went, the figure would switch on the television to fill their conversations with soap opera confabulations.

 

Other times, the figure’s footsteps whip against the panels, leaving pieces of the outside world with every step. Jeonghan would hold onto the blanket as he hears them thundering louder towards their bedroom, anxious because he can’t predict how bad the figure’s temper would be. When the door scrapes open and he slides in under the covers, he would rummage to find Jeonghan’s waist before grumbling about his headache _absolutely_ doing him in. Jeonghan would breathe a small sigh of relief at that, kiss his big baby’s eyelids shut, and quietly embrace him throughout the night.

 

They weren’t always like this. Somewhere along the lines of the last busy three years, they made a silent pact to not talk about themselves, to enjoy what little time they had together by simply being present in each other’s company. So Jeonghan leaves his insecurities to diffuse into the walls, lets them drown in a ceaseless debate over why the second lead is more superior than the main lead. Logic tells repeatedly that no matter what happens, the ending will remain the same with the figure in Jeonghan’s arms, and isn’t that what matters after all?

 

 _Assumedly_ , Jeonghan thinks, tossing in bed.

 

It's one of those cool summer nights when no amount of disinfectant could wipe the clamminess permeating the air. It reminds Jeonghan of the time he passed out after drinking his weight at Joshua's badly-ventilated bar. Clothes had been off, sprawled everywhere. How could they have not, when humidity had declared war on them? It had been the only time Jeonghan ever welcomed the morning walk back, the cool breeze making him feel that little bit more alive.

 

Jeonghan gets up to open the windows in the hopes some wind would bring similar relief, but the stickiness fights to stay. Recognising imminent defeat, he tucks himself back in bed the way he does every night: blanket up to his chin, staring dully at the ceiling, his ears straining for that first metallic click.

 

Nowadays, it’s difficult to predict when the click would arrive. Summer means 6pms are pushed forward to 9pm. He could be lying alone for hours and hours, his only company hammering against his chest. Jeonghan used to hate this white time, but he doesn’t now. It gives him space to reflect the day’s events, a little pocket of peace to himself before the darkness changes his mind and muddles his words.

 

Today’s metallic click at 8:57pm nearly stops Jeonghan’s heart mid-beat.  He’s home earlier than usual. Jeonghan listens for the usual sounds, muses how they used to soothe his worries and frustrations. A source of contentment. There are other emotions involved now: fear, hope, anger, guilt, a lump the size of a shipwreck in Jeonghan’s stomach. Even the patterns aren’t quite the same anymore – the footsteps feel heavier, they pace back and forth between rooms, lost and unwelcome.

 

By the time they enter the bedroom, Jeonghan finds them neither familiar nor comforting.

 

Everything else is still the same: the way he slides into the covers toes first, careful to keep the cold out; the way his weathered hands roam all over Jeonghan's body before nestling against his fingers; the way his breath blows on Jeonghan's ear like a cold breeze, whispering the same sweet words the night they first fit together.

 

Once upon a time, Jeonghan counted on these moments to fill his lungs with air.

 

Nowadays they tick by like the second hand on a grandfather clock, each moment disappearing as swift as it came. Like a timer.

 

A timer Jeonghan has no idea how to defuse.

 

Jeonghan turns to face the figure, whose eyes are already shut tight, held in place by his long black eyelashes. Stroking his finger against the other's cheek, Jeonghan encounters new bumps and scars, patches of dry skin that have coalesced together like huddled street urchins. A pang of guilt reverberates through Jeonghan's ribcage. Here is the man who once carried Jeonghan up and down 13 flights of stairs when the lift broke down because he insisted that Jeonghan not walk with a broken toe. An unstoppable fearless man, he is. Or was. Now a 10-hour shift is enough to knock him out cold, curled up in a fetal position, his once-strong arms barely there to protect himself. Jeonghan notices other things too: the sharp eyebrows that won't unfurrow, the clenched teeth in permanent lockjaw, the constant twitching stopping him from settling comfortably.

 

When did his uneasiness become a thing of habit? A part of Jeonghan wants to go back on his resolve, to welcome again the happy memories he locked away and to embrace the ghost of this man he once knew, he once loved. Truly, madly, deeply loved.

 

But he can’t. He, and the last two months of his internal anxious wrangling, know that. If it doesn’t happen tonight, he doesn’t know when he would be able to muster up this much courage in the future.

 

“Seungcheol, Seungcheol”, Jeonghan whispers, gently shaking his shoulders.

 

Seungcheol squirms in place, head shaking side to side before snuggling his forehead against Jeonghan's neck. Jeonghan sighs, biting his tongue. He forgets how much it derails him when Seungcheol reverts 10 years in age.

 

“Seungcheol, wake up,” Jeonghan tries again, swallowing the lump in his throat, “I need to talk to you about something.”

 

“Babe, it's been a long day”, a raspy late-night voice replies, “let's talk tomorrow, I’ll cook your favourite pancakes, I promise, just -”. His words trail off as lips meet pillow and the low rumble of a snore commences.

 

Jeonghan chokes out an exasperated hybrid of a chuckle and scoff, knowing full well those pancakes will either set off the alarm or be well in the process of digestion in Seungcheol's stomach before he could get a bite in. That and Seungcheol is out of the house before six to get the train and 2 buses to work, so when will he have the fucking time to make Jeonghan pancakes when he can't even feed himself the breakfast Jeonghan had laid out the night before?

 

“Seungcheol please,” Jeonghan strains, his voice dangerously teetering close to breaking territory.

 

This time Seungcheol refuses to offer more compensation. Instead his body edges closer, his hands clasp over Jeonghan's hands tighter and his legs loop over Jeonghan's, like an umbrella against the rain. Or metal bars clamping down.

 

“Seungcheol, I don’t think we can be together anymore” Jeonghan splutters desperately.

 

The words come out clunkier than he wanted, like he's been chewing toffee all day and the syllables are all stuck together. They hang there in the air, heavy, unmoving. it's suffocating.

 

For a second, Jeonghan thinks Seungcheol might have stopped breathing, the rhythmic bob of his shoulders coming to an eerie standstill. He then slowly opens his lids, revealing dark irises, red strings on the background of white sclera, staring straight ahead, unwavering, his whole face like mint marble carving.

 

“What do you mean?” he articulates carefully, as if on eggshells.

 

“It's exactly what I mean” Jeonghan replies, surprised at the incongruity between his stern voice and how much he wants to scream and sob right there and then.

 

Features unfazed, Seungcheol retaliates, “Do you mean you want space? A break? Do you want t-to move out, is that it?”

 

Jeonghan's eye twitches. It's Seungcheol's speciality to infer a person's every intention from a single expression. Seungcheol knows exactly what he means, he fucking knows, and here he is acting like a fool, making both their lives harder than necessary.

 

“You know exactly what I mean, don't bullshit me Seungcheol,” Jeonghan finds himself snapping. “It means I want this to be over, I want our relationship to end.” As if to prove his point, Jeonghan shakes his legs from underneath Seungcheol's trap.

 

“Where is this coming from?” Seungcheol asks, his voice rousing from its sleep.

 

The moon emerges from the clouds, lighting Seungcheol's face. Jeonghan can see tiny cracks forming on that marble face of his; he expects his heart to swell with pride like he's decrypted an unbreakable code but instead a twinge resonates within him, those questionable things you sweep under a rug but know are still there. Seungcheol, as if sensing the shift in power, moves his head away from the moonlight and perches it on his palm, his elbow propping against the pillow so that his gentle eyes are intensely focused on Jeonghan and Jeonghan alone.

 

And that triggers a complete shutdown of Jeonghan's entire cognitive function.

 

Because Jeonghan can't remember the last time they faced each other like this, like they're in their own bubble and everything outside this bubble simply melts away like ice cream sundaes under the heat of a midday sun. It's the face Jeonghan has been calling out for months, the face which he's forgotten entirely, just how much takes his breath away.

 

Jeonghan turns towards the window as he starts to feel the unmistakable heat rising in his cheeks. “I - I don’t know, I can't remember when this all started, that's how long it's been,” he mumbles, “all I know is that this isn't working out, we never see each other, we're both so unhappy, nothing seems to match and rather than letting this continue, isn't it better to just stop ... before, before one of us breaks?” Jeonghan winces at how much his voice is wavering.

 

“I didn't know I was unhappy in this relationship” Seungcheol replies.

 

Jeonghan whips his head around to get a good look at just how incredibly thick this moron's head is. “Fucking hell Seungcheol, how are you not unhappy?” Jeonghan barks incredulously, “you come home and you look like you're carrying the biggest burden in your entire life, you won't let me come anywhere near it, and you expect me to think you'll be even remotely _okay_?”

 

“But Jeonghan, babe, I am okay, see,” Seungcheol takes Jeonghan's hand and kisses it tenderly, his lips reluctant to part with Jeonghan's warm, trembling fingers, “What's outside is outside, when I come home the only thing I can think of is how incredibly lucky I am that you're still here with me.”

 

This is what Seungcheol does: he coats the rotten fruit with sugar glaze until there is only a glass replica of its former self. No substance, but still intent on delivering that strong rush to satiate his cravings. Jeonghan knows this, yet he struggles to release his hands from Seungcheol's grip, instead glowering at Seungcheol’s pale yet determined face. “Then explain to me why your night terrors are back.”

 

Seungcheol's face drops the bluff, blinks twice, “My - my what?”

 

“Your night terrors,” Jeonghan repeats, “when you wake up and you're scratching your face and screaming and crying and you have a war's worth of hatred on your face and there's nothing I can do to calm you down.” The lump in Jeonghan's throat returns and it hurts, it fucking hurts to say this but, “that hatred was for me, wasn't it? The name you shrieked in anger was mine. Don't you dare try to tell me otherwise.”

 

They started approximately after Jeonghan's stint at Joshua's bar. they're horrible, those things; the last time they happened was after Seungcheol returned from his grandmother's funeral. Seungcheol's eyes would roll open, but they wouldn't respond to Jeonghan's calls. He's tried embracing him, patting his back, trailing ghosts of kisses down his glistening neck, but when one night Jeonghan's name slipped between Seungcheol's mangled cries, a seed of guilt planted itself in Jeonghan's heart and has grown ever since. Eventually, Jeonghan hears white noise instead of cries.

 

Seungcheol looks at Jeonghan like he's a pair of headlights running at hurricane speed. His face changes in succession: first distress, then a flash of that war-like hatred before a sense of calm and finally; an overwhelming guilt that straddles the integrity of his voice.

 

“These night terrors, were you ever hurt because of me?”

 

Jeonghan doesn't know what to say to that. Seungcheol is looking at him with a fondness and worry only time could craft. His doe-like eyes takes Jeonghan right back to their first date when they were content just staring at each other's eyes. Jeonghan remembers thinking he could spend a lifetime doing this because he loves Seungcheol. He loves Seungcheol so much, even now. That unadulterated love is exactly the love Jeonghan wants permanently etched in his memories. And it is his desire to preserve this sentiment, that Jeonghan realises how much he doesn't deserve Seungcheol by his side.

 

"This is not the fucking time to lay your pity on me Seungcheol!" Jeonghan bellows, horrified to feel hot tears making tracks down his cheeks, “your boyfriend just said he's breaking up with you and you're not even the least angry? Instead you're treating me like a fucking twelve-year-old. Am I that inferior to you?" Jeonghan hates this, hates being the only one worked up and wanting to pull his hair out alone, while Seungcheol, a perfectly poised Seungcheol stares horrified at the complete and utter mess he is.

 

"No you're not." Seungcheol answers, "And yes I am angry, though I guess, more panicked and sad than angry, but I figured you deserved a chance to explain yourself. Guess I went ahead of myself."

 

Seungcheol peels himself off the bed, a blanket in one arm and a pillow tucked underneath the other. He leaves the room without a word, carelessly shutting the door behind him.

 

The scene is exactly how Jeonghan pictured it.

 

* * *

 

 

The cough-inducing smell of smoke rouses Jeonghan from his sleep. He is lying prone on the bed, limbs thrown out as if reaching for something, the pillow beneath his cheek rough with dried up stains. He rummages for his phone among the sheets. 8:07 am. He groans at the thought of work and lays still on the bed, the sun beaming down on him.

 

Last night had been a total disaster. He was supposed to break up with Seungcheol quickly and heartlessly, supposed to keep his ground and lay out the facts and conclude that separating was their best option. Seungcheol would stop screaming in pain at night; Jeonghan would stop swimming in guilt every time Seungcheol would so much as breathe.

 

Jeonghan traces the sore spots on his neck.  The first time, he could forgive himself. Alcohol and heat, always a reliable combo. But the second, the third, the tenth, the twentieth time he shivered under a different breath? It became less and less painful to miss Seungcheol - that is until the night terrors began. Every night became a battlefield between his past, nostalgic self and his current, realistic self. Last night could have ended that, if it wasn't for Seungcheol and his big, puppy eyes, the way he held Jeonghan's hand like nothing else mattered and how much he, despite his exhaustion, exuded warmth and love and tenderness and safety . Jeonghan, the fool, took the bait, hook and sinker.

 

Jeonghan sighs in defeat. The smell of smoke is still going strong, now accompanied by a resounding crash of what sounded like metal pans. Jeonghan whips his phone out again. Wednesday, the 18th, 8:10 am. What the fuck is Seungcheol doing? Jeonghan springs from the bed, clumsily rubbing his eyes to get the gunk from last night out. Shuffles his way to the kitchen, a rising feeling of dread resurfacing from his stomach.

 

The kitchen looks like a toddler had whirled his way into it. There are plates, bags of flour, milk and eggs strewn over the counters Jeonghan broke his back cleaning yesterday. A healthy dose of white powder covers the remaining surfaces. A pool of batter lies helplessly next to the stove, ignored by the cook struggling to unstick the uncooked batter on the non-stick pan. The smell of smoke is strong enough now that Jeonghan's cough catches Seungcheol’s attention.

 

"Oh, morning, you're awake already!"

 

Jeonghan looks incredulously at him. "What have you done to my kitchen?"

 

Seungcheol timidly rubs his neck, nearly burning his nape with the spatula, "Oh, um. Pancakes are harder to make than I thought?"

 

Jeonghan peers at a plate on the counter, stacked half a foot high with charred flat things. "How many times has the fire alarm gone off?"

 

"None, I swear!” Seungcheol shakes his head, this time nearly knocking the pan out. "I mean like, maybe once or twice but the fire brigade didn't come this time so it's okay right?"

 

Jeonghan must've been incredibly exhausted last night to have missed the multiple alarms. He moves closer to the scene of the crime, examining the burnt edges of the pancake on the pan while a petrified Seungcheol cowers in the corner, like a home economics student on his finals.

 

"You really didn't have to do this you know." Jeonghan deadpans, turning to Seungcheol with a grave expression on his face.

 

Seungcheol responds with a pout, pushing Jeonghan away from the stove. His hands grip firmly on Jeonghan's shoulders, but not too tight, never too tight.

 

“Oh shut up, go and sit down in the lounge or something, I’m nearly done here,” Seungcheol reassures, pushing Jeonghan away, "I have a batch somewhere that's edible just give me five more minutes."

 

Jeonghan reluctantly steps next door, noticing the carpet sinking his feet. When the soap opera routine was phased out in favour of distance, Seungcheol at work, Jeonghan at a lavish apartment in town, the lounge took the fall, covering itself in dust and musty smells and the startling silence after a shipwreck. An artefact stuck in time. Jeonghan eyes the messy blanket and pillow on the settee, a silent intruder in this sepia-coloured snapshot. He remembers a time in spring when Seungcheol coerced Jeonghan to give him regular back massages for his 'super achy back'. Jeonghan lies down on the settee, the angle of his head perched acutely on the armrest. He closes his eyes. Seungcheol stopped asking for them around mid-summer, but Jeonghan still remembers Seungcheol wincing every time they embraced.

 

A familiar voice pulls him out of his reverie. He opens his eyes to see Seungcheol bend his head down to him, blinking.

 

"I can put your pancakes in the fridge if you want?"

 

There it is again. The lump in his throat, the faint flutter of butterflies in his stomach. Jeonghan mentally kicks himself. Five days’ worth of building his resolve down the drain with one blinding smile, enough to make him forget to breathe. This was _not_ the conversation they were supposed to have. He's supposed to berate Seungcheol for not going to work, for ruining his kitchen, for letting this goddamn lounge, with the settee they picked together and the couple mugs precariously perched on the shelf, to rot in their wake. They're supposed to break up, for god's sake. Instead, Jeonghan snatches the plate of rather decent-looking pancakes from between Seungcheol's grip before settling squarely on the pillow.

 

“Why aren’t you at work?” His tone comes out less sharp than he wanted. Jeonghan stabs the pancake for added menace.

 

“I’m not skiving work, I promise,” Seungcheol insists, his whole body twisting to its end to _really_ prove his point, “I’ve still got at least a week of annual leave and I have to use them up soon because they don’t carry over to next year, so…you know.”

 

Somehow Jeonghan believes it. That there aren't five months left in the year to use said annual leave that he’s definitely not used up completely for his grandmother’s funeral in January. Prime candidate for international spy, this Seungcheol.

 

“And also I promised you to make the pancakes, but since I’m really bad at it, I had to start really early in the morning – don’t look at me like that, you know I don’t break promises” ( _he really doesn’t_ , Jeonghan muses) “and the weather’s really great today so I thought when will we ever get this kind of sunshine right? Definitely not weather for the office, but perhaps the aquarium, the amusement park, the beach…”

 

Jeonghan ignores the dent in his moral construct, letting his heart latch onto Seungcheol’s flustered expression and the thrill of anticipating his next words.

 

“...and do you want to go? Maybe?”

 

Let it be known that Jeonghan is a selfish bastard with a penchant for anti-climactic propositions.

 

* * *

 

 

Seungcheol bangs his head twice and nearly tumbles down the stairs on the way out so Jeonghan takes it upon himself to assume responsibility for the safety of their lives, the car and the entire Seoul driving population by wrestling Seungcheol away from the driver’s seat.

 

In theory, Jeonghan should have lost. They may be similar in height, but where Jeonghan is made of sinewy, flexible limbs, Seungcheol was made out of a sturdy core, better built, stronger. The more stable of the two, and certainly the more stubborn. It scares Jeonghan to even think of how easily Seungcheol conceded.

 

“You’re gonna take me back to work, aren’t you?” Seungcheol pouts, arms indignantly crossed against his chest, “Well, let me tell you now, they’re not gonna be happy if they see their manager dressed in a pineapple shirt and aquamarine shorts, so you should definitely give up on that plan.”

 

Jeonghan scoffs in response, turning on the ignition. Seoul World and Aquarium lies across the city on the west coast; he would need to pass through the inner city to get there. If there’s one thing Jeonghan wants to do right, this is his chance. He mentally maps the entirety of Seoul’s motorway system, recalling the city’s intricate back-end street alleys. Anything to avoid a certain apartment downtown, no matter how small that chance is.

 

“It’s just today right? After this, no more skipping work, no more night terrors” Jeonghan recites, shifting the gear into reverse, “and we break up for real, that’s the deal.”

 

Seungcheol doesn’t reply. When Jeonghan turns to face him at the next traffic light, Seungcheol is fast asleep, an expression of strained serenity sketched on his soft features. A tiredness difficult to wear away. Jeonghan tries to mend whatever piece of his heart he can gather before the lights switch to green.

 

* * *

 

 

“What kind of aquarium closes on Wednesdays for maintenance?” Seungcheol whines, throwing his arms up.

 

“I get that you’re annoyed, but stop waving your arms around” Jeonghan nags, trying to save the melting ice cream cone in his fist from being crushed into smithereens, “That’s Ben and Jerry’s Cookie Dough ice-cream you’re putting in danger.”

 

It hadn’t been long since Jeonghan went to Seoul Aquarium, but the place had looked like it needed more than just routine maintenance. Jeonghan reckons the whole thing was going to shut down soon. He’s secretly relieved by the closure; he doesn’t really fancy spending his last date with Seungcheol being ogled at by fishes from around the world in a dark, cramped space. Jeonghan licks his lips, wincing at the bitter taste. Last date sounds like one of them is about to die.

 

Seungcheol, on the other hand, looks genuinely crestfallen at the situation, his little pout somehow less cute and more resentful. Jeonghan only just managed to budge him with an offer for ice cream, and even then, Seungcheol wouldn’t stop muttering curses under his breath the whole way to the amusement park. It started reaching such peak annoyance that Jeonghan very nearly threaded his fingers with Seungcheol’s to rub circles on his knuckles.     

 

He doesn’t because that’s not what he’s here for.

 

Jeonghan sighs, looking around at the thin crowds around them. It’s unusually empty, even for a weekday. “All right, I’ll let you choose which ride we go on first.”

 

“Ferris wheel!” Seungcheol lights up instantaneously, raising Jeonghan’s doubts regarding the authenticity of his sulking.

 

“No.” Jeonghan deadpans.

 

“You said!”

 

“I take it back, anything but the Ferris wheel.”

 

“Fine, we can go on the carousel.”

 

“I did not just fork out 50,000 won to ride a plastic horse in circles.” Jeonghan’s voice quietens. “And anyway, you know what we’re here for, don’t make this harder on yourself.”

 

The crestfallen look returns with more intensity than ever. Jeonghan knows how unfair he’s being. He also knows how infinitely optimistic Seungcheol is, and how much that optimism grows when you feed it. He’s on shaky ground as it is, and he doesn’t need any help tilting a particular way, thanks very much. Jeonghan is a selfish bastard after all. A selfish bastard who turns into jelly the moment a furrowed Seungcheol huffs indignantly, stomping his short stocky legs, his sunset-stained lips in full grump intensity, in the general direction of the roller coaster.

 

“Okay, I get it, you don’t have to remind me.” Seungcheol murmurs. “Is the Avalanche Racer unromantic enough for you?”

 

Jeonghan finds himself sliding to Seungcheol’s side, their shoulders on the brink of touching. They don’t say anything. The chatter and screams around them fill their silent walk, the humid air suffocating any conversation that comes to mind. Jeonghan dares to steal a quick sideways glance. A vacant look has settled on Seungcheol’s face, the same look he adopts when conflict descends and he feels entirely helpless to rectify the situation. His lips part and close, breath hitching and sighing, words appearing and disappearing, his features spiralling into a grimace, like the ocean rising and falling, spellbound by the moon. It’s breath-taking and sad and completely and utterly Jeonghan’s fault for dragging this long past its due.

 

“Jeonghan, I don’t want this to be weird or uncomfortable for you, that’s not the point of today” Seungcheol starts, his breaths becoming regular with each syllable. Jeonghan’s head perks up, surprised. “You don’t need to worry about what happens after today.  Just relax and have fun, okay? No strings attached. Banker’s honour.”

 

Jeonghan cracks a laugh at the boy scout gesture Seungcheol imitates to underline his point. He’s right; one day isn’t going to change anything, and he, they, deserved to spend this time together as freely and merrily as the universe permitted. Shaking his head, Jeonghan nods meekly in agreement, earning a satisfied beam from the ever-bright boy.

 

“Good. Now just stay in the line, I’ll be right back.” Seungcheol speeds off, kicking dust. A few minutes later, he is hurtling towards Jeonghan, a squashed orange tennis ball squat on his head and an equally frightening soot-coloured accessory in his fist.

 

“Headbands!” Seungcheol declares proudly. “There are only two months left till Halloween so I got myself a pumpkin one and some bat wings for you!”

 

He tiptoes to slip the headband through Jeonghan’s hair when the latter refuses to bend his head down. Seungcheol takes a step back to give himself a massive pat on the back for his excellent choice. Jeonghan wrinkles his nose in mock distaste.

 

“Whoever loses their headband during the ride has to grant the other’s wish, whatever it may be. Best two out of three!” Seungcheol giggles into the curl of his fingers, a gesture that pulls on Jeonghan’s heartstrings and has him nearly keeling over in delight. Except those two things don’t happen - instead, they manifest themselves in a single, quiet half-smile, bursting at the seams from how much happiness Jeonghan allows himself to indulge in.

 

Three years in and Jeonghan still can’t quite figure how deep Seungcheol’s optimism runs.

 

* * *

 

 

There is a point at every worthwhile attraction where everything comes to a standstill. Peak, summit, there are different names for it. It’s a point unbound by subjective time: despite having full knowledge of the overall trajectory, there is no past to ruminate over, no future worthy of worry. There is only now: the sight of a grand, bustling city spread beneath your feet; the whip of a summer wind roaring in your ears; your heart revving and galloping faster than midnight street race cars. It’s sensory overload at its best and overwhelming cacophony at is worst. Jeonghan tends to fall on the latter end of this spectrum.

 

But in between pinning his bat wings headband and wondering how much food he can extort out of Seungcheol once he wins, Jeonghan finds himself solely focused on the boy next to him. On his playful teasing and the crinkles around his eyes as he breaks into never ending laughter. His ringing laughter that cuts through the rush and skin and bones straight into Jeonghan’s heart. On the way his whole being fixates on Jeonghan, like _he_ is Seungcheol’s peak – like they’re in sync. Like this is meant to be. Like the build up of their lives made of bumps and scares and swerving into other lanes all amounted to this one point in time and place. The moment before the fall.

 

(This happens, once, twice, three times, and if Jeonghan thinks it over, a couple of hundred times in the past. Before this mess Jeonghan created happened.)

 

It blurs everything away, exhilarating Jeonghan to breathlessness. He only realises where he is mid-way through the fall and by that time, their fingers are already well-interlinked, snug in the crevices of what can only be called home.

 

* * *

 

 

They both lose their headbands. Well, technically only Jeonghan lost his headband, the way one does when they’re being rotated 360 degrees, 200 feet off the ground, on a ride unironically named _Toppling Tower_ . In Jeonghan’s disbelief, he roughly grabbed the pumpkin still sitting smugly on Seungcheol’s happily bouncing head and discovered that it was on an _elastic headband_ hanging tight on his scalp. No wonder he looked so carefree on the rides, while Jeonghan held onto his bat wings for dear life. What cheek. Jeonghan threatened to end their date right then and there, which of course, prompted loud protests and childish clinging on Seungcheol’s part and ended with a hefty bribe of greasy carnival food and half the stock of the souvenir shop.

 

“Where are we going next?” Jeonghan enquires, licking satisfied crumbs on one hand and manhandling a giant bear on the other.

 

Seungcheol crosses his arms and knits his eyebrows together, looking up at the cantaloupe sky as if the clouds had rearranged themselves and didn’t fit quite right “I still really want to go see the fishes, I’ve been dying to go to the aquarium ever since you texted me about it,” he ruffles his hair in frustration. “Ugh, why did it have to close today of all days?”

 

A small sharp lump briefly pulls on his throat, which Jeonghan does his best to swallow. “Well, to be honest in the state that it’s in, I wouldn’t want to go anywhere near its vicinity.”

 

Jeonghan’s voice lowers when Seungcheol doesn’t respond. “You said you wanted to go to beach right? We can probably see some fishes while we’re there.”

 

“It’s not the same, though.”

 

Suddenly Seungcheol comes to a halt. Jeonghan, slightly taken aback, shoots him a quizzical look, following his line of vision. They have somehow walked in the complete opposite direction of the beach and are in front of the aquarium again, physically still as rundown as it was six hours ago except now the light and shadows accentuate the building’s blunt edges and sharp corners, making it look even more ruined.

 

He watches Seungcheol glower at the building, fists clasping and unclasping, fingernails digging into his palm leaving tender scores on his pale skin. His face is far gone, a sullen shadow of today’s sunshine brightness. As if his terrors aren’t satisfied with torturing him at night and are now haunting his days. Something tugs on Jeonghan’s heart. He doesn’t get it, he doesn’t understand how or why or what is making Seungcheol react so vehemently like this. It leaves him so weak and powerless. All Jeonghan wants to do is forget, forget the deal they made this morning, forget everything he’s done to Seungcheol, every heartbreak and pain seared into their relationship and just pull him into his arms, and sing lullabies, sweet words, _anything_ to calm this big, heated, beautiful being.

 

“There’ll be other times –”

 

“No there won’t be,” Seungcheol cuts off, turning his head to face a crimsoned Jeonghan, hand blocking his mouth as he realises his foolish gaffe. Seungcheol’s face is as dead as a graveyard and white as sheet. “That’s the point isn’t it? There’s nothing more after today, nothing else to save, and tomorrow you’ll be gone and –” Seungcheol chokes, words too thick to let him say what he wants. “I’ll be stuck here, still wanting to see manta rays and clownfish and seahorses with you.”  

 

“Seungcheol, I’m sorry that’s not what I meant,” Jeonghan shakes his head furiously as the tenacity of his blunder becomes more apparent to him. Something in Jeonghan’s expression, perhaps a guilt, an ache, or a hideous mix of the two, brings colour back to Seungcheol’s face, his eyes weakening at a realisation that Jeonghan can see the outline of but can’t quite grasp. He pulls his gaze away from Jeonghan, lowering his head in defeat.

 

“Forget about it, you’re right, there are better fishes in the sea,” Seungcheol mumbles under his breath, “Let’s just go before the sun starts to set.”

 

And with that, Seungcheol grabs Jeonghan’s wrist, spinning him around, pulling him in a rough rush in the direction of the beach. Jeonghan doesn’t know what to do except let his whole body fall limp, let it be dragged by Seungcheol’s white hot anger scorching his skin. His eyes find it hard to focus as a tumble of thoughts barrage their way into his mind. He turns his gaze upwards. Something about Seungcheol's words and the way the persimmon patches in the sky clash with the spurts of blood-stained clouds triggers a hazy memory hidden somewhere among tall, glass walls, the water behind it shimmering crystal blue.

 

Somebody is with him, same height, different build. Jeonghan’s arm is around his slender waist, head resting on his gaunt shoulder. Together, they point at something orange and white frantically swimming away from them, like watching an underwater cop film. Jeonghan recollects chuckling into this man’s shoulder before a sudden ocean of sadness washes over him, making him grip the slender waist tighter. The man with him simply responds with a knowing smile, a little anecdote about some movie he watched when he was a kid and a joke Jeonghan can’t recall, try as he might.

 

But he remembers something else. He remembers throwing his head back, carefree and laughing for the first time in weeks when in the furthest corner of his peripheral vision, he spots a tuft of black hair on top of an ashen face, stricken with agony. The shock lasts for only a second before the figure with too many layers disappears like a ghost, a trail of thought not worth remembering. Until now. Until this moment when Jeonghan fixes his vision on Seungcheol’s messy black hair, strands whirling like wildfire. Things click and Jeonghan feels his chest constricting with every sharp inhale he takes, the dreaded realisation building up, clawing its way up his oesophagus and bursting in his mouth in a flurry of bubbles.  

 

“Seungcheol, you knew?”

 

Seungcheol doesn’t stop. Instead, he picks up more speed, as if this is something you can easily run away from. Jeonghan has had enough of this, has reached his absolute limit and is _angry,_ angry that Seungcheol isn’t listening, angry that even now, with his heart laid bare and his deafening secret out, Seungcheol would not even turn once to _look_ at him.

 

Jeonghan wrestles his wrist away from Seungcheol’s clutches, sending him tumbling and skidding to a halt. Jeonghan struggles to calm his breath into a steady rhythm, the erratic beating of his pulse thwarting off his respiratory centres, instigating a global shutdown of his every thought process except for one pulsating heed.

 

“How long have you known about him?”

 

Silence, again. Or maybe resistance. How could he know? Seungcheol’s back is hunched, cold and far away and Jeonghan’s voice, no matter how deafening, how reckless, simply floats and blends with the air.

 

“About Joshua?” Jeonghan hollers, louder and angrier with every syllable, “How long have you known about us? God damn it, Choi Seungcheol, stop being a fucking coward and _face me_!”

 

_Why didn’t you say anything?_

 

_Why wouldn’t you say anything?_

 

_How could you let me single-handedly ruin what we had?_

 

Seungcheol finally turns around, a shadow casting the side of his face. When he locks his gaze with Jeonghan’s, there is a quiver in his eyes, like what he’s about to say is a shameful, dirty secret.

 

“A month? Two months? I don’t know, I didn’t believe it when it happened, when you started coming home at 2, 3 am, smelling like some faded expensive cologne,” Seungcheol says.”Maybe the beginning of summer? We were going through a rough patch, work started taking over my life and I saw you less and less. And when I did see you, I felt like we were ghosts, overlooking past each other. It hurt, so I threw myself into more work."

 

“But then one night, you slipped under the covers, cold, shaking, traces of alcohol still on your breath. That night I couldn't see your face but you gripped my arm so tightly, I still have scars from your fingernail marks all over my skin. I didn’t mind though. The only thing I could think about was you hunched up in _my_ arms – no awkward fits, no hesitant flinches, just the sound of your breathing trying to sync with mine. Thinking back, that was probably when you first met him, but for all I knew you could have stabbed me with five knives and slit my neck and I wouldn’t have batted an eyelash.”

 

Seungcheol takes a deep breath that wracks through his entire body in a shudder. The breeze along the shore of the beach feels less warm now, starting to nip at the edges of Jeonghan’s skin so he wraps his arms tighter around himself. Or maybe it’s fear.

 

“A few weeks later, you sent me a text about an aquarium you wanted to see that I never replied to, but one I recalled when I volunteered to handle their dismal assets, for whatever reason. I came in my best suit, made fucking sure they would stay afloat until our anniversary at least, and turned to leave. That was when I saw you with him.”

 

He tries to hold himself together, curled fists slamming against his eyes, shallow puffs of breath against humid air.

 

“I saw murder, the way you gripped his waist. I saw myself marching straight over, punching the air out of that skinny asshole right into the glass wall, clenching your fingers in my hands before whisking you away. To blow my fuse, demand answers from you, remind you of what we were while kissing your breath away. So yes, to answer your question, I really, really did want to get angry at you at that point.”

 

Seungcheol’s voice had adopted an accusatory tone, but then almost immediately softens, the way it always does whenever Jeonghan looks like he’s about to cry torrential rains.

 

“But then I heard your laugh and… I couldn’t believe how happy you sounded. The laugh that I thought I was hearing these last few months but had actually been nothing but counterfeit because that clear, blithe laugh was brought on by _that_ man. Not me. Not since spring at least. The guilt and self-loathing came first. I knew I had every right to be furious, you who thought I was no longer worth your while for even one conversation about our relationship. But I couldn’t. Not when your happiness was at stake. So what if I did confront you about this? I was at fault here too for abandoning you for days. Seeing how disgustingly paranoid I was, would you then have broken up with me?”

 

“At that time, I couldn't even consider that as a possibility, so instead of running towards you, I ran away. Out of the aquarium, out of our house, out of Seoul. After that, it was too painful to see you rubbing your neck constantly at unfamiliar red marks, so I adopted a routine: spiralling further and further into my work, I gave you fewer morning kisses and added more dirty sheets. Mechanical was the way to go -  at least then I could get through each day without wanting to gouge someone’s eyes: mine, yours or Joshua’s. I felt like I was suffocating, forced to bear something I hated but only doing it because I thought – it felt – like it was the right thing to do until yesterday night. I realised then how long I had been holding my breath in, because every piece of frustration in me flew out in a whirlwind and finally, my brain wasn’t so coddled in my own selfish haze and I could think. I saw how scared and furious you were; I thought that maybe I was wrong, maybe this whole thing was hurting you too. And when you told me about the night terrors… that confirmed it all. I knew then that I would be stupid to keep denying our breaking point, not just for me, but for you too. And if that was the case, then maybe I could learn to let you go, forgive myself a little.”

 

Seungcheol closes his eyes and takes a step back, only daring to return Jeonghan’s gaze after the overwhelming heat in his eye sockets dwindles.

 

“So there you have it. The backstory of one fucked up human being, too greedy for your love, only to end up losing it. I proposed this date with no hopes of winning you back; all I wanted was for you to leave me with good memories. And I guess, for me as well, to move on with no bad feelings. But I got carried away, I know I did and I’m sorry. Please understand that this was hard for me. And if you want to leave now,” Seungcheol gulps, “I won’t stop you.”

 

Silence settles between them. In premature defeat, Seungcheol lowers his head, a curtain of onyx hair falling on his face in a vain attempt to hide his dread. Jeonghan looks down to see his hands trembling, in time to the tremor in Seungcheol’s shoulders.

 

“Seungcheol, you fool.”

 

Seungcheol looks up, does a great job at hiding his surprise. Jeonghan is a complete mess, hot streams of tears running down his cheeks, snot running in a similar fashion down his philtrum, his face the colour of sun-blushed tomatoes.

 

Seungcheol’s shoulder twitches on instinct but there’s something less brash, less sharp than anger and hatred in Jeonghan’s voice so he stops himself out of optimism, only barely managing a croaky, “Please don’t cry.”

 

“Seungcheol, you stupid, inconsiderate, complete blockhead,” Jeonghan gasps in between sobs. “First of all, how _fucking_ dare you still treat me like a child that doesn't know what he wants and is too immature to comprehend his own boyfriend’s feelings. I can’t believe you thought I was _happy_ to sneak around you nearly every fucking day. Do you know how guilty I felt every time I gave in to your embrace? But really, what was I supposed do when that was the only thing I could do to ease your burdens? I’m sick of being shut out constantly from your life Seungcheol. I want us to depend on each other more in the future.”

 

Jeonghan pointedly ignores the dawning realisation evident in Seungcheol’s face, continuing his tirade. “Second of all, I want that pineapple shirt but also your spangly fur pyjamas, burned, mutilated and otherwise removed from my sight – I don’t ever want to have to do laundry and be assaulted by those hideous things. This is non-negotiable.”

 

“Wait, Jeonghan, are you saying what I think you’re saying –”

 

“Finally, and this is going down as the biggest oversight of the century,” Jeonghan gestures between them helplessly, voice breaking in uneven strides. “How do you expect me to leave you when I have no way of knowing if you are, or ever, going to be okay?”

 

All attempts at subtlety fall apart. Seungcheol’s jaw slacks in disbelief, the corners of his mouth flickering up as he edges closer and closer to minimise the gap between them, sprinting at the last moment just in time for a crumpled Jeonghan to fall into Seungcheol’s embrace. Fistfuls of that hideous pineapple shirt catch Jeonghan’s tears and cradle his laboured breaths. All his apologies tumble out a beat too late, but Seungcheol accepts them anyway – accepts them like the broken goods they are, running his fingers lovingly through Jeonghan’s hair.

 

“I’m so sorry Seungcheol, I’m sorry for being impatient, for blowing up, making you suffer like that, for everything, god I’m just –” Jeonghan pulls himself away, forcing himself to fixate on Seungcheol. “I just… I don’t get it, why… why me?”

 

Seungcheol doesn’t say anything. He raises his hand to brush off the sweat on Jeonghan’s forehead, fingertips tracing the angular edges of Jeonghan’s temple, lingering like he’s holding his words.

 

“Why?” He chuckles absentmindedly, his expression lost in an ocean that doesn’t know its own depth. “You make it sound like I’ve never wronged you.”

 

Seungcheol holds his breath, lets it out in a long exhale. “Do you remember the roller coaster we went on today, the one I begged to go on again? That’s my favourite roller coaster. It’s angled so perfectly, that when you reach the top you can see everything – all of Seoul and its busy… _griminess_ , the ocean disappearing into the horizon, and the endless sky.”

 

Jeonghan looks up instinctively to see swirling pink clouds painting the sky, feels their infinite expanse comforting at last.

 

“It’s a view I see every day when I look out of my office,” Seungcheol continues, his voice turning solemn. “And when you see something everyday , no matter how breathtaking at first, you start taking it for granted. Like I did with you.”

 

Seungcheol’s voice begins to crack. “You were always there for me Jeonghan. Even when I left you for nights on end, missing your birthday, our anniversaries, you would always welcome me with home-cooked food and all of your love. So I don’t blame you for what you did.” Seungcheol smiles through the film of tears covering his eyes. “This time it was my turn to wait for you.”

 

Jeonghan only meant to lean forward to wipe Seungcheol’s tears, only parts his mouth to whisper ‘ _Please don’t cry’_. But with a thumb length’s gap between them, their lips find each other’s without hesitance. The kiss starts out lightly at first, but after reclaiming the familiar grooves, tongue brushing against warm lips, Seungcheol’s hands tenderly curl around the small of Jeonghan’s back to pull him into something deeper, hot breaths exchanging between parted lips. Seungcheol is all brazen intensity and little bites and cheeky tongue swipes in Jeonghan’s mouth; Jeonghan can’t help but giggle into the kiss like a lovesick teenager, digging his fingers into Seungcheol’s hair. Giggles because he’s felt this all before. It feels like settling into an old routine because there is nothing spectacular about their kiss, no bursting fireworks ringing in their ears. It is just two bodies finding their way back home, lips gently rekindling a fire they both thought had long gone.

 

As they pull away from their kiss (reluctantly, if Seungcheol’s throaty whine and tight grip on Jeonghan’s waist were any indications), the street lamps flicker alight, illuminating the road back to the parking lot one patch at a time as if straight out of a 1950s Hollywood musical. Jeonghan imagines a smooth jazz number playing as they lean in for a second kiss when an echoing rumble interrupts them.

 

“Listen, babe, I love you and all that, but the cooking and running and stress talking and kissing? Huge deplete on my energy reserves. Not to mention what’s going to happen tonight.”

 

Jeonghan mock punches Seungcheol’s arm in response, blushing a deep red that doesn’t go unnoticed even in the dim light, resulting in Seungcheol tackling Jeonghan in a bear hug.

 

“Let’s go back home like this,” Seungcheol says, as he drags Jeonghan with him.

 

“No, stop it, we’re in public.”

 

“Stop being so grumpy, you were the one who cheated on me.”

 

Jeonghan shoots him a glare, breaking Seungcheol’s grip on his shoulders and thrusting his fingers between the webs of Seungcheol’s fingers, sealing them tight.

 

“Happy now?” Jeonghan grumbles, raising their combined interlocked fist.

 

Seungcheol throws his head back in laughter, kisses Jeonghan’s head and replies, “With you? Always.”

 

* * *

 

He falls asleep as soon as they are home, his legs tucked underneath Jeonghan’s legs, the scent of a salty breeze intoxicating Jeonghan to a blissful sleep.

 

Seungcheol doesn’t scream once.

**Author's Note:**

> psst talk to me @cheolnu on twt, i dont bite ;;; especially if you'd prefer dm-ing criticisms and suggestions and whatnot or if you just want to scream !!!! about seventeen because same.
> 
> SORRY FOR TALKING ABOUT CONCRIT AGAIN, i've just been trained by uni to crave criticisms aerwicnoiw anw hope you enjoyed this!


End file.
